


What Used To Be Between Us.

by KatieLauren



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:20:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieLauren/pseuds/KatieLauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a one night stand, leaving John to work out if they're worth saving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John Watson used to think love was simple. Not 'love', when you believe you love someone at the time and then realise after that it wasn't love at all, but lust, or friendship, or something in between. No, love, in John Watson's mind, conquered all. He had seen it do so. Some of the men and women who he served with in Afghanistan had it and he had seen it in them throughout service; the joy, the pain, the sorrow and the fear of not being with that person who makes you feel worthwhile, makes your stomach do backflips and who every moment without physically hurts.  
He used to believe that love was waiting for him in a woman, and that they would marry and have a family. John was still John; he didn't intend to sacrifice any part of himself for this- they would travel, he would propose in his favourite city- Paris (a cliche, but it held very dear memories), he would still serve his country as an army medic, and he would be happier for the addition of a wife and children.  
Then he met Sherlock Holmes. He had felt the raw, hard pain of unrequited love. Then the joy of discovering the reciprocation of the love. Those blissful 'honeymoon' months. The peaks and dips of a new relationship. It was glorious, like coming out from underwater into sunshine- he knew the joy others had felt.  
It lasted 2 years, 4 months, and 16 days. 

 

Sherlock Holmes can remember almost every single detail about almost every moment in his life.  
He cannot, however, directly predict the consequences of his actions. 

 

It was a cold April afternoon in 221b Baker Street when the call came. Sherlock hadn't spoken to Carolyn since that evening they had spent together. John was reading the paper in his chair, Sherlock taking the phone call in Johns old room. Carolyn's voice came out of the receiver full of tears.  
"I'm pregnant." A soft pause. "Sherlock, I'm pregnant."  
Sherlock coughed lightly. "is it mine?"  
"Who else's? I'm not just some little tart you can wish away Sherlock I-"  
He cut her off before the indignation in her voice became too irritating. "What do you wish to do about it?"  
"I don't know. I was hoping you'd help me figure that out."  
"I'll meet you tomorrow."  
"Okay- The Cafe by Bart's?"  
"1pm."  
"Okay." She paused again. "I really hope we can make this work."  
In his bid to process the information he had just received Sherlock did not hear the smile Carolyn had on her face as she hung up. Nor did he hear the sound of an expensively manicured hand massaging a cashmere clad stomach. His mind was filled with John, only John. Telling John about that night.  
They'd argued about putting their names down for adoption (how ironic that seemed at this moment), Sherlock arguing they didn't even have a wedding date (Sherlock had proposed in Paris, at the Louvre, because he knew how sentimental John was) and now John wanted children? And John shouted back, calling him an unfeeling bastard and maybe they shouldn't get married if it wasn't what Sherlock actually wanted, to which Sherlock had called him an idiot because when did Sherlock Holmes ever do anything he didn't mean and John threw a mug of tea and- and then Sherlock had stormed out of the flat, to Bart's. He had settled himself in a lab with some minor research on the effects of gangrene on deceased murder victims when Carolyn had walked in. 

She'd worked at Bart's for a few months now, she was the stepdaughter of a Lord Mycroft knew well. Early thirties, petite, sandy brunette hair- physically she was female John. Which might explain why he didn't push her away when she kissed him.  
She tasted unfamiliar, of cigarettes and lemons. He didn't know what had happened before they were lying entangled, half clothed, on the lab floor. When they where done, he had simply fastened his trousers and left. There had not been a single word spoken from the moment she had entered the room. Sherlock bought a packet of cigarettes from a nearby kiosk and walked back to Baker Street, smoking every single one.  
He let himself into the flat, took John in his arms and apologised. Told John he was scared. That relationships were new to him and it was so overwhelming and god, didn't John know how much he loved him? It hadn't been a lie. 

John.  
Sherlock had to tell him.  
He slid the phone back into his pocket and began the descent down the stairs, feeling like a dead man walking.


	2. Chapter 2

John was sat in his armchair reading the Times when Sherlock came down the stairs. John looked so comfortable, so at ease. Sherlock, on the other hand, was a wreck. His palms were sweating, his heart beating too fast. The adrenalin the news had created had left his body.  
It was moments like this that made him long for the sweet relief of the needle, the trickle of the warm fluid into his veins. The sweet spot on his wrist where he had injected all those years ago began to ache.  
No.  
"You alright love? You look awful. Was that Lestrade?" John called, voice melodic, turning in his chair to face Sherlock.   
"No. Not Lestrade." his voice was perfectly calm. He went and sat in his armchair, think it pose adopted so he didn't have to see the hurt register in Johns eyes when the words came out.   
"What then? Is Greg okay? Mycroft? Harry? Molly?" John rested his paper in his lap trying to scan Sherlocks face. Something was horribly wrong.   
"I had sex with someone else.".   
The words come out barely a whisper, but John feels like he's been hit by a bomb. He loses all the feeling in his limbs, he can't move. The air is cold and hard to breathe in.  
"Who?" the word is spiteful, hissed through a dry mouth and a breaking heart.   
"Carolyn. From St Barts. The Lab assistant- it was one time John, after our row-"  
"That was six weeks ago! You've been clinging onto this for six weeks!" the freeze had left John, his blood boiled in his veins and the rage was tearing through him. "How could you? What happened to 'my body is just a vessel'? When you came home that night, and told me you love me and that you want nothing more to get married- did you mean it? Or was it guilt eating you up?"  
Sherlock could barely suppress the sob in his throat. "Of course I want to marry you John! It was a pathetic mistake because I was angry and I'm so sorry- I love you, and I don't know why I betrayed you."

'I love you.' Those words are so rarely spoken in 221b. John says them in passing, but Sherlock has them reserved purely for reciprocation (when he feels appropriate) and the blissful post-coital haze. Those three little words make it hurt so much more- how many times had he longed for Sherlock to say them? John often wondered if that was why Sherlock dragged his heels so when it came to the wedding- he would have to admit to loving John to everyone. 

"I.... I need air."   
John stood up quickly to get to the flat door, but Sherlock was faster. Sherlock stood tall, blocking Johns exit. John had turned a worrying shade of pink   
"John."  
"What? What can you say, Sherlock Holmes, to change any of this?"   
"She's pregnant. John, I'm so sorry."   
There was a crunch of fist against bone as John punched Sherlock squarely in the nose. The world went black as Sherlock crumpled to the floor but he could hear John step over him.  
"Please.... Please don't leave me."  
The door slammed shut, and Sherlock allowed the darkness to envelope him.


End file.
